Cursed
by cinder-wolf13
Summary: Hermione is cursed into the year 1867. Can a young Albus Dumbledore help her return to her own time? ADHG but give it a chance. Rating is guideline only. DH compliant, except for the epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine! I just thought there was a distinct lack of Dumbledore fics out there. If you think the pairing is sick, don't flame me before I've even had a chance to write it. They're the same age here, after all.

---

She landed hard, face down on a cold stone floor. The sounds of the battle had faded; instead, she could hear a roaring fire and a book closing with a snap. She raised her head slightly, groggy. The spell that had hit her was not one she had experienced before, that much was certain. Through bleary eyes she saw a figure moving toward her.

The man that looked down at her was clearly unnerved by her presence. As her vision cleared, she saw he had long auburn hair and dazzling blue eyes. She was looking up at a man who could only be a young Albus Dumbledore.

"Professor?" she asked. She tried to sit up, feeling light-headed. As she slumped back to the ground, he caught her in his arms.

"I am no Professor," he said, "Who are you?" There was a hint of apprehension, even fear, in his voice.

She tried once again to sit and he helped her to an armchair.

"Hermione Granger," she replied. Looking around, she saw she was in a small room with a bed. There was a writing desk and the chair on which she was seated, but no other furnishings. Instead, the floor was largely piled with books and rolls of parchment. There was a fire in the hearth and a small window in the corner. Seeing her companion at a loss for words, she added,

"You are Albus Dumbledore?"

She saw him start at her question, but he hid it well and nodded slightly. Showing the composure and intelligence she associated with his elder counterpart, he said slowly,

"I feel the right thing to ask you is where you have come from… I have never seen an entrance like yours and I know I have not seen you before today. I wonder, from your appearance, if you come from this time at all."

He seated himself behind his desk and continued to survey her from behind steepled fingers – a habit she knew he continued in later life. Not knowing how to answer, she considered how she had come to be in the house of her Headmaster, apparently several decades before her own birth. Harry had defeated Voldemort and the Death Eaters were being rounded up. Harry, after telling them about his ethereal meeting with Dumbledore, had wanted to be left alone to his thoughts. Ron had been mourning Fred and, not wanting to intrude, she had retreated to the grounds.

The spell had come from nowhere; in a jet of bright blue light she experienced a feeling like apparition and found herself here, wherever 'here' was.

"Sorry, Sir, but would you mind telling me the date before I answer your questions?"

He frowned and replied,

"My name is _Albus_. The date is December the ninth, 1867."

Something inside her snapped. She was apparently trapped, more than one hundred years before her own birth. The man before her, by her calculation, must have just ended a great friendship with the wizard Grindelwald, whom he would later defeat. He had entertained fantasies of ruling muggles by the motto "For the Greater Good". He had neglected his family and likely murdered his sister.

"I… You see, Pro-Albus… I already know you… Or, I will know you in the future. I want to be honest with you. It seems I have been sent to this time by a curse; I thought I was safe, because we'd won the war." She wanted to break down and cry, but he was looking at her with those dazzling eyes that seemed to see through her. She would be strong.

"How did you know me?" demanded the young man impatiently. Hermione was taken aback by the harshness of his tone. She realised she shouldn't have expected him to exactly resemble the kindly old man she had known.

"You were my Headmaster - the Headmaster of Hogwarts. That is, you were, before you died. I don't think I should tell you anything else." His expression hardened, almost to the point that she became scared of him. To break the silence, she added pointedly,

"How old are you, Albus?"

"Almost nineteen." The words sounded odd, coming from someone she knew to be almost a hundred and fifty.

"I'm eighteen, too."

He made no move to acknowledge her speech. Eventually he said,

"You can't stay here."

Her eyes filled with tears for the first time and a sob racked her body. There was nothing she could say to such blind hostility from the one person she had known solidly to be fair and kind.

---

Sometime in the night she awoke to find herself under the covers of what was presumably the Headmaster's bed. Through her eyelids she could see a soft light in front of her. She opened her eyes.

Though his head was bent and a curtain of hair obscured his face, she could tell he was crying. His shoulders shook and his legs were drawn up to his body defensively. In the glow from the candle, he seemed the most fragile and, somehow, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

As if sensing the weight of her gaze, he raised his head toward her. The blue eyes she had always seen so full of life were dull, as if behind a veil. He did not speak for a long while.

She sat up, drawing her legs close to her in the same position as him. Nothing seemed the right thing to say.

"Please tell me why you cry," she said, some moments later. Maybe the direct approach would prompt honesty from him, she did not know.

If he was embarrassed of his tears, he did not show it. After several attempts to speak, he shook his head.

"Is it…" she hesitated to show how much she knew of him, in case it angered or scared him. "Is it your sister?" She prayed his explosion would be quick.

"How do you know of my sister?" His voice was raspy from crying.

Deciding lies were not going to help, she tried to explain truthfully.

"Me and my friends had to do a task for you this year. We found out a little of your past as we tried to follow your wishes. Then Harry spoke to you when you had both died – I don't really understand, but he came back – he said you talked about it. He had been angry with you for hiding things from him; he couldn't believe that you still cared for him at all. But I think you sorted it out."

The young Dumbledore looked, to Hermione, like he had not understood a word she said. After a while she added,

"I suppose I'm trying to say you shouldn't dwell on what you can't change. People can forgive you if you can forgive yourself."

His words were so soft she barely caught them at all.

"If I stay in here, I can't hurt anyone else."

She rose and sat on the desk chair opposite him.

"My friend Harry once said you were the greatest wizard alive. Called himself 'Dumbledore's man, through and through'. You were an inspiration to everyone! You might not hurt anyone in here, Albus, but you can't help anyone either." He looked agitated.

"You don't understand! Hogwarts took me from my family – look what happened to them! How can I forgive myself when my selfish urges killed Ariana? When I wanted to rule the Muggles 'For the Greater Good'! I can't be allowed power or knowledge… all it does is harm people."

In eighteen years, Hermione had never heard anyone so bitter or so full of self-loathing. She reached out but he shied away as if her touch would burn – or as if he would burn her.

"Albus, why don't you go to bed," she said. He shook his head roughly, a haunted look passing briefly over his face.

"Why?"

"Dreams," he mumbled. She noticed dark circles under his eyes.

"Please, Albus, try," she pleaded. "I'll watch over you… you look so tired." Again he shook his head, saying,

"Where will you sleep?"

"I'll be fine."

"No you won't!" For a moment he sounded so like Molly Weasley she almost laughed. Then she remembered she might never see Molly Weasley again. It was a sobering thought.

"Would it not be improper for us to sleep in the same room, where you come from?" he asked. She smiled.

"Of course not." Hurriedly she added, "But I won't sleep, if it would bother you, I promise. I'll just wake you if you dream. You can trust me."

She had a feeling that under ordinary circumstances, he would never have agreed. Clearly he was very tired and the day had been unusual, at best, for him.

As he climbed under the covers, she said,

"Don't you want to get changed, or something?"

She realised the awkwardness of her question as soon as she voiced it and blushed terribly. To Albus, dressed in a formal waistcoat and long robes, her proposition must have been on a par with asking Headmaster-Albus to sleep with her. She saw he was also blushing violently. It was surprisingly endearing.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I just haven't got used to this time yet, but I will." Pulling the armchair slightly nearer the bed, she settled down to let him sleep.

---

He fell asleep quickly, despite his unease at her watching. It seemed to Hermione that the dream began almost as soon as the sleep came on. Not wanting to awaken him so soon, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his hand.

It was warm, but began to almost burn as she touched it. Every so often a shudder ran through him and his long fingers gripped her hand tightly.

After a while he began to speak, calling 'no' over and over. She raised a hand to his cheek the way her mother had once done, stroking his face and saying that it was alright; she was here. Some minutes later he appeared to calm and fall into a deeper sleep. She relaxed but kept hold of his hand, hoping he would know she was still there.

---

She woke, stiff-necked, in the early morning. The candle had burned out and pale yellow light was filtering through the window, illuminating swirling motes of dust in the air.

She must have fallen asleep as she sat holding his hand, as she was now slumped on the floor with her head resting on the bed. Thankfully, her companion appeared to still be asleep. She shuddered to think how improper he would find their current situation.

Standing up and stretching her aching limbs, she glanced at her watch. 6:32. She crossed to the window.

The view, while not spectacular, was certainly pleasant. The room was a floor above the ground, overlooking a small road and a few thatched stone buildings. In the distance was a line of rolling hills, now blazing with the sunlight rising behind. Victorian sunlight, but light from her sun nonetheless. She wondered where the eighteen-year-old Dumbledore had chosen to live, having left Hogwarts and now estranged from the one family member that remained.

As she turned back to face the room, she noticed her companion's eyes were following her form closely. Perhaps he had thought she would be gone by now.

"Good morning," she said uneasily. Suddenly she was acutely aware that yesterday he had wanted her gone and that she had nowhere to go. The silence was heavy. "I'll just leave, then," she added after a short pause.

Looking around the room out of habit though she knew she had not left anything, she moved towards the door.

Her hand was on the handle when his soft voice called her back.

"Don't leave. I'm sorry I said you couldn't stay." He looked troubled. "You don't have anywhere to go."

"I'll find somewhere."

"No! I won't let you. You don't have anything with you." She smiled.

"Don't I?"

He shot her a quizzical look and sidled out of bed, surreptitiously smoothing his robes over his thin frame.

"Show me," he said. Deciding to continue her policy of honesty, she held out her purse. He took it, confused, and opened the clasp.

His frown turned to a laugh as he realised what she had done.

"You came prepared, Hermione." He blushed suddenly and added, "M-Miss Granger."

The carefree expressions had transformed his face; his blue eyes sparkled the way she remembered.

"Hermione is fine, Mister Dumbledore, if Albus is fine." He nodded, relieved.

They couldn't both live in that room – that much was obvious to Hermione. With that in mind, she rushed out,

"Come with me."

He looked taken aback. It was clear he didn't know what to say; nothing tied him to this place, she was sure, but likewise nothing tied him to her. Why would he agree? That embarrassing thought in mind, she was surprised to hear him say,

"Where?" She decided to be confident.

"Wherever we want."

"Where will we stay?"

"I have a tent. It's perfectly spacious. It wouldn't be improper." He smiled slightly as if embarrassed by his society's thinking.

"Would you make me a carrier, like yours?" Hermione looked down at her beaded purse and raised an eyebrow at him enquiringly. He looked alarmed. "Oh! I mean… not exactly like yours, obviously, I just meant…" She laughed.

"I know, I'm sorry. Show me what you want to enlarge. Does this charm not exist in this time? It takes me a while to cast." He appeared to think for a minute.

"I have not met it before. Perhaps you would be able to charm this?" Putting his hand in his pocket he drew out a small leather pouch. She took it from him.

"I'll need an hour. Is there anything you need to do before we can leave?" Albus nodded, mumbling something about the rent. He left the room, presumably to talk to the landlord.

Sighing, she settled into the armchair with the pouch on her lap and drew her wand.

---

The charm was difficult; with all the year's events she had almost forgotten how difficult. It was nine o'clock and the sun was bright outside by the time she had finished.

Albus had returned only a few minutes after leaving and for the most part he simply watched her. When she looked up she could understand how brilliant he was – his face was alive with concentrating on her movements. He was not handsome, with his already slightly crooked nose, but he was captivating.

Tentatively she reached out and handed him the pouch.

"That should work," she said shyly. He moved his arm around inside the pouch, laughing in disbelief when he found the space inside was much larger than the outside portrayed. Looking around the room at his belongings he said,

"I'll pack up, then." She nodded in agreement.

"Um," she began after a while, "is there a bath somewhere? I'd like to clean up before we go." She could sense his embarrassment, but to his credit he said only,

"There's a bathroom along the hall. If… If you could try not to be seen, I'd appreciate it." She grinned and nodded, imagining what a Victorian landlord would think of her secretly being in Albus' room at night.

---

"Where are we?" Hermione asked as they left the inn where Albus had rented his room.

"Not far from Godric's Hollow. The wizarding inn was built on the outskirts to avoid too much suspicion from the Muggles."

"Oh." They were walking past the thatched cottages on the road that appeared to lead away from the village. "Where are you taking me?" He paused for a minute and then stopped walking.

"I thought, since we can't send you back yet, you'd have to learn to fit in better. I thought I could buy you some suitable robes in Diagon Alley. We can buy whatever we need. You can see what people are like-" he hesitated, "nowadays." She gasped and only just managed to stop short of throwing her arms around him. This man, who had known her for less than a day, tried harder to please her than Ron had in seven years. She was floored by his willingness to accompany her to an unknown end, help her return to her own time and spend his money on her.

"Albus, I-" she felt around for the right words - "if there's anything at all I can do for you… You've been so kind to me. I think I have some money but I don't even know if it's the right currency… My Muggle money is definitely wrong."

"Hermione, don't worry," he reassured, "We'll be alright." There was something in his calm voice that made her forget that she was lost, trapped in the past and a long way from home. It was comforting. Taking her arm shyly but firmly, he apparated.

---

She had never much liked side-along apparition; the feeling that she was going to become distanced from her partner was always overwhelming. As a result, they arrived in Diagon Alley with her arms clamped tightly around his waist, her head tucked under his chin.

His arms flew away from her the second their feet touched the floor and he stepped back hurriedly. He looked so flustered, in fact, that she had to stop herself laughing and hugging him again.

"Sorry, Albus," she said. "I really didn't mean to be awkward. I just don't like side-along apparition very much." He nodded and, taking a deep breath, offered her his arm.

They had appeared in an alley off what turned out to be Flourish and Blott's. The magical street, in fact, was not very different to how she knew it. Gringotts still dominated the higher end and several names such as Ollivander's (Makers of fine wands since 382 BC) were familiar. They headed towards a shop that, about a hundred years later, would become Quality Quidditch Supplies. At this point in time, it was 'Miss Goshawk's Wizarding Garments'.

The inside was crowded and fairly dark. The latter pleased Hermione as she had already begun to feel her plain black robes were rather out of place. She was as fascinated as she had been visiting Diagon Alley for the first time. Caught up in the bustle, she heard snippets of hurried conversation.

"-getting married at Christmas, I ask you! All these new robes to buy for the children and you know they'll only outgrow them-"

"-wants us all round for Christmas dinner, didn't know how to say no – we all need something to wear, of course-"

"-heard about your family, poor dear, if there's anything I can do… So young…" At this last scrap of dialogue, Hermione turned her head in her companion's direction.

She had seen Albus uncomfortable – her suggestion that he get changed for bed, for example – but this was different. Panic and guilt were washing over him until he seemed almost incapable of forming words. Edging over, she decided to intervene.

"Albus, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I feel so ill… I think I'll just stand outside for a moment." Sidling out of the shop, she heard her friend reply,

"I'm sorry, Mrs Prewitt, do you think you could excuse me? It seems my cousin is unwell. She gets the most awful headaches, you know." A moment later, Albus was beside her.

"Don't make me go in there again," he pleaded, pressing money into her hand. "Get whatever you want and I'll be in the alley." He picked a small stone from the floor and transfigured it into a goblet. With a murmur of 'Aguamenti', the goblet filled with water. "Drink this," he said with a wink. "It will help the headache."

A minute or two later Hermione returned to the shop. Albus had disappeared into the alley and she had a sneaking suspicion he was also under a Disillusionment charm. How badly could one woman have shaken him? It must be several months since Ariana's death. Shaken from her thoughts, she caught the end of a speech aimed at her.

"-cousin, eh? What's your name?" The question appeared more of a demand. She realised she had no idea how to formally address Victorian witches, or even how to answer the question. In the absence of a plausible lie, she decided on the truth.

"Hermione Granger, Madame."

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, child!" Hermione forced her eyes upward. The woman was indeed formidable. She looked almost exactly like Ron's Auntie Muriel; coupled with Albus' use of her surname, Hermione felt it safe to assume that she was looking at some relation of hers. The woman had begun to talk again.

"-always said it was fishy, keeping her indoors all the time, what with a father like that… Who knew what went on? Nasty business. I expect they like to hush it up in the family, do they? A squib – yet another blemish on the name of Dumbledore!" By this time Hermione had tuned out, although the woman's tirade was far from over.

In the five minutes it took her to reach the front of the queue, Mrs Prewitt had insulted Albus, Ariana, Percival, the Dumbledores in general and eventually Hermione herself. Apparently, her posture and manners were almost as distasteful as her family name and her taste in robes also left much to be desired.

In contrast to the scathing tongue of Mrs Prewitt, Madame Goshawk was a calm, even-tempered woman.

"What were you looking for, dear?" she asked. Hermione considered her reply.

"Well, I just need some robes for everyday wear," she said.

"What colour were you thinking of?" Quickly glancing around at the rolls of fabric, she replied,

"That blue one looks nice." She knew she was being dreadfully dull but, she thought, acting slightly slow could mean she was excused not using etiquette as perfect as everyone else's.

"Yes, I think it would suit you," the witch said cheerfully to herself as she began to wave her wand, measuring Hermione and cutting up the fabric.

Ten minutes later she was able to leave, clutching a paper bag containing her first nineteenth-century purchase.

"Albus?" She said to the empty alleyway. "It's alright, she's gone. I got some robes, I hope they're alright." After a few seconds the young Dumbledore appeared before her. She could tell he still felt slightly shaky, so she added, "Why don't we get an ice cream? That shop is so good it's still there in my time! Mrs Prewitt's gone, anyway, and I think she ran out of insults for us for one day." He smiled at her and arm-in-arm they walked back into the main street.

Florean Fortescue senior was almost the double of his son. Like the proprietor Hermione had known, he was inclined to give away free sundaes and bounce about his parlour with a large grin on his face. Albus ordered two chocolate and cherry sundaes, one of which was declared 'on the house – I saw ol' Mrs Prewitt givin' your friend a righ' goin' over jus' now.'

"What did she say to you?" asked Albus. Deciding the whole truth in this case was unnecessary, Hermione settled for replying,

"Oh, nothing I couldn't handle. Just empty insults." After a short time, she added, "Thank you for everything. I don't know what I'd have done if I hadn't found you yesterday." Suddenly embarrassed, she returned to eating her ice cream slowly. In all the excitement of this new world, she hadn't yet had time to dwell on the one she had left behind. All her mind would let her think was that somehow she and her friends had survived the war, and that was the main thing. What better companion could she have than Albus Dumbledore in her search for the counter-curse?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far! I'm glad there's some people enjoying the story.

---

CHAPTER TWO

He lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night outside the tent. She had taken them to a small wood not far from Hogsmeade; Hogwarts was visible as a series of jagged spikes on the horizon. Settling into the tent seemed second nature to her – she said she and her friends had moved around a lot in the last year. She had not been specific, which frustrated him, but maybe it was for the best.

The first thing she did was ward the area heavily. In this strain of magic, at least, he could keep up with her. Wizards had always been paranoid and he knew many spells to repel prying eyes. Why she felt the need to protect them so greatly was another matter.

He couldn't relax his mind enough to sleep. In the bunk opposite, his companion was breathing evenly, a slight smile on her face. He had made her happy today and it both pleased and scared him. Power over her was something her did not seek. While he would rather die than abuse her trust, power and the search for knowledge did strange things to him that he preferred not to think about. She had been so ready to put faith in him where no one else seemed to any more.

Tomorrow they would begin the search to send her home, but already the thought of her going saddened him. He had been alone before she came, but he had not known her friendship. He felt stupid, acting like they had been friends for years. It almost seemed like they had been. Eventually, her face filling his thoughts, he drifted to sleep.

---

As he drifted gradually into consciousness, it was a while before he realised where he was. On opening his eyes he noticed two things; one, that the tent was filled with bright sunlight and two, that Hermione's bunk was empty. A quick glance around him showed that she was crouched over some kind of flame, cooking breakfast. When she noticed he had woken, like the day before, he was greeted with a cheerful 'good morning'. Unlike the day before, he replied in kind. He wondered, yet again, why she did not appear upset. When she spoke of her own time it did not seem to him that she had been unhappy there. Perhaps she was convinced that she would be returning soon.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked. Her reply came quickly.

"No. No, please, let me do this for you. I want to at least attempt to repay you." She had discovered yesterday that, although wizarding coins were given the same names, their designs were slightly different. Not wanting to attract too much attention to herself, she was not going to use her money.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes. If she did not want help then he would not give it – this time. Drawing the curtain separating the bunks from the rest of the tent, he changed his robes and cast some self-cleansing spells. He had barely finished this when she said,

"Breakfast!" It was rather nice to be waited on like that, he decided. He could get used to it.

But he could not get used to it. Soon she would have to go back to where she belonged.

---

She had changed into her new midnight blue robes and he could tell she was desperate to be gone. A library, she said, was just what she needed to make her feel at home. With this he identified; at Hogwarts, he had doubted whether the other students combined spent as much time in the library as him. Today they were going to visit the only public wizarding library in Britain.

"Hold on," he said, hoping she would manage the apparition slightly better this time. She clung to his arm fiercely and he focussed on their destination.

Once again her uneasiness with Side-Along Apparition had caused her to grab tighter to him on the journey. Her arms were wrapped around him so strongly that he couldn't move at all. Despite the impropriety, he felt a sudden urge to wrap his arms around her, too. It was an odd impulse that was somehow unfamiliar to him. Back at Hogwarts he had always been much too busy with work to notice any of the witches. What he had noticed, at some point yesterday, was that the witch in front of him was much prettier than the females at Hogwarts had been. The word 'pretty', in fact, did not seem to fit her at all. Her beauty came from something deeper than that.

He had been a million miles away. Dimly he realised that they were still touching and that she was making no move to disengage herself from him. Whether this was good or bad he didn't know. Slowly he loosened her arms and led her gently out of the alley in the direction of the library.

---

The library was an impressive building, located a few streets away from Diagon Alley. It was circular in shape and had a magnificent domed roof. Alcoves in the wall held huge statues of famous wizards and Merlin stood directly over the doorway. They walked up the steep steps to the grand oak doors.

A smaller door within the large doors stood ajar. He led her through it and through a small anteroom.

The space they found themselves in was vast. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the perimeter while many more rows were contained in a central block. Desks, chairs and tables occupied every free bit of floor. Witches and wizards hurried around busily, carrying books and parchment or searching for a book on sliding ladders attached to the shelves. A low hum of quiet activity was all around.

He watched her face; wonder and delight were etched there so beautifully he wanted to somehow capture the moment and preserve it forever. She turned to him, beaming, and asked,

"Where do we start?" It was a good question and he could not answer it.

---

He walked her through the shelves, watching as she tried to take in everything all at once. They passed sections titled 'Alchemy', 'Charms', 'Healing' and 'Magical Beasts' among hundreds of others. Magical history occupied most of the middle block and potions texts filled several towering columns towards the back.

At the rear of the library, set back from the other shelves, a dark alcove was guarded by an elderly wizard.

"Not headed for this section, are you, Albus?" he asked as they approached. Albus shook his head.

"Thankfully not, Mr Avery, though it might not be long." The man gave him a long look and then said,

"These books can give a wizard greatness, Albus. Power. You seek that." It unsettled him to hear this judgement but he tried to appear unfazed.

"It is only answers I seek today. If you will excuse us?" The old wizard nodded briefly and returned to his work.

As they continued round the room's circumference they passed shelves titled 'Quidditch', 'Spellwork' and 'Transfiguration'.

"Those books back there were chained!" Hermione burst out suddenly. A second later she added, "Our safety or theirs?" He chuckled.

"A mixture. They are rare, mostly unique; their use is restricted. Some are dangerous."

"You have entered there before?" He shook his head.

"It is only for overage wizards and even then you need to give details of your reason for reading them. I have read several of the more harmless occupants on recommendation from Hogwarts."

"You said it might not be long before you went in."

"Yes – I think, if we should find these books-" he indicated the shelves – "to be no help, we will look there. The magic that brought you here seems suspicious, if not actually Dark." They had walked the perimeter and were now faced with the exit and an information desk. Quietly she asked him,

"What age is overage?" He looked surprised at her ignorance only for a second.

"Twenty-one."

"Oh. But you can do magic? I mean, outside Hogwarts?"

"As soon as you leave, yes."

"Oh." She stared around blankly for a moment. "Where _shall_ we start, then?" It was still a good question and he still had no answer.

---

Several hours later, their table covered in texts from the 'Curses' section, Hermione put down the book she had been reading and sighed.

"I'm no nearer to it. There's been no mention of time in any of these spells." Albus had to agree. Even in this unrestricted part of the library he had found curses to kill and maim in a million different ways. There were curses causing infertility, muscle wasting and blindness, but not even passing references on the subject of time.

"Let's go home. I think we should be reading books from your time first." Hermione nodded.

"Albus," she said suddenly, "has the Time-Turner been invented?" He frowned at the mention of such an unfamiliar and intriguing object.

"No," he answered, "What is its use?" She smiled.

"It can transport the user back short periods in time. To my knowledge you can't actually run it forwards, but I should have liked to know the principles it works on."

"Isn't it complicated, everyone going back in time? Isn't it dangerous?" He looked confused.

"Oh, very," she replied. "The Ministry don't give them out to just anyone. I don't know exactly how many there are, but it's not many. I had one once. When I… er… well, I took more lessons than there was time in the day. I needed some help fitting them all in." He laughed.

"See if your books have anything about these Time-Turners, then," he said.

Grabbing armfuls of books and shoving them back on the shelves in roughly the right order (a couple huffily rearranged themselves, muttering) they headed for the door. Normally a wasted morning in the library would have annoyed him, but it didn't seem so bad today.

---

She was sitting in an armchair, legs tucked underneath her and a book open in her lap. One hand held the page and the other twisted a lock of hair idly. Her front teeth worried her lower lip as she read, eyes sweeping the page frantically. He had been watching her for over a minute but couldn't seem to look away. His research suddenly did not seem as interesting as usual. Knowing she would laugh if she caught him staring, he eventually averted his eyes.

None of her books seemed to mention Time- Turner use, but he had learnt some interesting things along the way. Sadly she had given him her oldest and most uninformative books to read – it seemed she didn't want to tell him any more of the future than possible. This did not irritate him as much as it had done. Why would he want to know everything? He returned to his reading.

A while later, engrossed in a page regarding Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, he remembered something he had read before. Magic, while often seeming boundless, was restrained by certain rules. Like the exceptions to Gamp's Law, some magic is simply impossible. Excitedly he produced his leather pouch and began rifling through his books.

---

Hours later, darkness falling outside, Albus began to read faster than before.

"Here's something," he said a moment later.

"What?" she jumped up and sat on the arm of his chair, reading over his shoulder.

'_Spellcasting to alter the state or properties of an object, says philosopher Romulus Peakes, can only be done within a set of predefined rules. Peakes believes Muggle philosophy is the key to understanding this magical theory._

"_Muggle thinkers are beginning to consider something known as 'dimensions'. They believe that there world is three-dimensional. Everything they see has three dimensions; a length, a width and a depth. They are trying to discover dimensions their world does not have. At the moment, they speculate that the fourth dimension is time, or the ability to move freely through time." _

_Peakes' new theory states that magic, being in fact the fourth dimension, can manipulate these four dimensions. He believes time, the fifth dimension, is unbreachable._

"_We can change an object's shape – its length, width and depth – and we can change its magical capacity. We do not, however, have a way of manipulating time." _

_Other wizards studying the subject believe that time will be magic's new conquest. Far from being convinced of its impossibility, some are rumoured to be developing a device to change time for the user.'_

Hermione grinned.

"That's it!" she said. "I was thinking we'd have to almost invent the time-turner to find out how it works, but all we have to do is visit these people!" He had to smile – was she naïve or just used to attempting the impossible?

"How are you proposing we do that? Even if we could find them we couldn't ask them anything."

"Why ever not? I thought you were supposed to be well-connected, anyway." He sat up straighter, indignantly.

"I am! But that doesn't mean we can walk in somewhere and demand to know everything about an experiment! It's hardly something you can pass off as curiosity." She deflated.

"Have you got a better idea, then?" Her jaw was set in a petulant line and he chuckled. He pushed her playfully from the chair arm, but, in her effort to avoid falling on the floor, she landed in his lap. She laughed at his obvious discomfort, saying,

"Lighten up, Albus, we're friends aren't we?"

"Of – Of course," he managed to say, finding it hard to think past the pile of Hermione in front of him. Eventually, rolling her eyes at him, she clambered up.

"Let's find something to eat," she said.

---

He was hungry – mushrooms and old biscuit shards from the bottom of Hermione's purse had constituted dinner. Now he was standing between their bunks, wondering what he could do to keep his mind from food. A few paces away, she appeared to be in the same condition. It was only when he noticed her shoulders shaking slightly that he realised she was crying. It occurred to him that he had no idea what to do.

"Hermione-?" he began, but stopped. She turned round, tears streaming down her cheeks. He felt something in him break at her sadness. Unsure how to act, as the cause of her grief was likely far beyond his control, he settled for taking a cautious step towards her.

She tried to smile, blinking furiously in an attempt to stop crying. He took another step. Without warning she threw herself at him, hugging him so tightly it was almost difficult to breathe. Again he had no idea what she wanted him to do; to embrace her fully would surely be much too forward. He rested his chin on her head and patted her on the back somewhat awkwardly.

It was some time before she calmed enough to withdraw, rubbing her eyes. He handed her a handkerchief and stepped back, wondering what he was expected to do now.

"Thank you, Albus," she said in a small voice.

"That's alright," he replied, trying to sound encouraging. "You've helped me. I didn't dream at all last night." He stopped, somehow embarrassed.

"I know," she said. "You just needed someone there, that's all." Smiling wanly, she continued, "Do you think you could just step out there for a minute? I think I'll get ready for bed. I just feel a bit… fragile." He nodded and complied.

On the horizon, Hogwarts was lit up like a beacon. He hadn't realised how much he had been missing it. Shutting the door and lighting his wand, he glanced back into the tent. Hermione's silhouette was climbing into bed.

"You can come back now," she called. He came back through the curtain, shutting it behind him, and sat on the edge of his bunk. After a few seconds of comfortable silence she said,

"Albus?" He looked up. "Would you… would you read to me?" He nodded, slightly taken aback by her request.

"Just let me find a book," he said. She smiled.

A minute later, armed with 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' – the only storybook he owned – he pulled an armchair up to her bed. Pausing only to turn to a particularly well-thumbed page, he began.

"There were once three brothers…" She was asleep before he finished the third brother's tale.

Sighing, he placed the book on the bedside table and whispered 'Nox'. In the darkness he undressed silently and climbed into bed. Across the room, Hermione shifted position and whispered something he didn't catch.

His stomach growled. It had been a long day, longer for the lack of food, and he wasn't used to it. Although he was skinny he had always eaten quite a lot. He had noticed Hermione was thin, though he had no way of knowing whether she had always been that way. When she had landed in his lap earlier she had seemed to weigh almost nothing. Maybe he would take her out to dinner tomorrow.

It was depressing to think of what they would do in even the most immediate future, as he knew they could ultimately have no future together. Every minute in her presence left him more attached to her and he knew there was no way even now that he could walk away and save himself the pain of her going. She was wonderful and beautiful, but there was no way, surely, that she could ever feel more than friendly towards him. He knew he was not handsome – no witch at Hogwarts had ever looked at him – and his personality left things to be desired, but he had tried to please her. She seemed to appreciate this. Seemed to see him for who he really was.

He smacked his head on the bedpost to try and clear it of that pointless train of thought. Angry with himself he rolled over and tried to sleep.

---

He awoke in the grey light of dawn, cold and starving hungry. Taking advantage of the fact that Hermione was asleep and facing the wall, he dressed quickly.

There was absolutely no food in the tent; that much he knew for certain. They were going to have to do some kind of shopping today, but he didn't have a clue where. Muggle London seemed the only real option – wizards didn't have markets or food shops.

A light rain had fallen overnight and the sky was still a steely colour. He checked his pocket watch: 7.15. Having nothing to do until Hermione woke, he returned to the sleeping area to rouse her.

She rolled over, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and staggered up.

"Time to get up, is it?" she said groggily. He looked sheepish.

"Sorry, I thought we should get going. We can get some food from Muggle London." She smiled and nodded briefly, ushering him behind the curtain. A minute later she said,

"Albus?" He turned around to see her head peeking through the curtains. "What shall I wear?" Since she was clearly almost naked he averted his eyes and said,

"I'm not sure. Do you have a dress? I could transfigure it to be Muggle."

"Alright." Her head disappeared behind the curtain. He heard her rummaging through her purse, muttering. After a long time – he knew witches could take a while to prepare themselves for outings, but Hermione? – she reappeared and he saw why it had taken so long.

She looked stunning with hair tied up extravagantly in Victorian Muggle fashion and wearing a floaty lilac dress. It seemed that nothing of her was left to the imagination. He gulped.

"Are-" he gulped again. "-Are you sure it's okay for me to transfigure that?"

"Oh," she replied, "I trust you. How do I look?" A million adjectives came to mind, none of which he felt particularly comfortable repeating to her. He opened his mouth and shut it again. "Is something wrong?" she continued anxiously. "I know I overdid the hair, I'll change it…" He realised she had taken his silence as a negative reply and said quickly,

"No, Hermione, it's all perfect; you look lovely. I'm only sorry I'll have to make it worse." Ushering her in front of him before she could reply, he took one last look at her form before flicking his wand.

The effect was staggering and immediate. While Hermione knew how to change the odd aspect of her clothes, it took a long time with small results. With a single spell he had altered the length, colour and material of her dress. She studied herself.

"That's amazing," she said after a while. "Well, it's hideous, actually, but I'll fit in a lot better! Thank you so much."

Though he was no stylist and the dress was not as flattering as it had been, she still looked beautiful to him. Gazing down at his own thin frame, he took out his wand once more. Somehow with just a few flicks he managed to turn his robes into a shirt, coat and trousers. Her mouth was open in incredulity and he grinned, relishing his skill as he had once done. Shooting her a cheerful look, he took a spoon from the floor and turned it into the most ridiculous top hat she had ever seen. Jamming it on his head, where the green colour clashed dramatically with his hair, he offered her his arm. Giggling, she accepted and they Disapparated.

---

A/N: I'm aware the science of 'dimensions' wasn't thought about so early on - it mostly comes from Einstein's theories of relativity in the mid twentieth century - but there was a Mathematician called Poincare who was thinking about it around this time. You can forgive me, can't you:)


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

They were being squeezed through a tube much too small for them and she instinctively grabbed him tighter. When they reappeared they were standing directly in front of Gringotts, a Goblin staring at them suspiciously. Casually her companion altered the colour of his hat to black and smiled.

"I don't think it would be right if you came with me. You'd know the number, and people would think…" He trailed off and she noticed a blush creeping up his cheeks. Taking a chance, she said,

"It's vault 713. What would people think?" He groaned slightly.

"Stop doing that." After a small pause in which he appeared to be miles away he added, "People would think we wanted to be married." She frowned and nodded.

"I suppose I'll wait here, then." He patted her arm with a smile and swept inside, greeting the haughty Goblin warmly.

Alone in the cold December sunshine, she looked around aimlessly. Her dress, despite being transfigured to a heavier material, was not warm and she shivered. Down the street many people were hurrying about with shopping bags. Not wanting to stay in the cold, she decided to join them.

The interior of Flourish & Blott's was almost exactly the way she remembered. The rear wall was lined with shelves up to the ceiling and books were piled on every horizontal surface. Behind the counter, a vacant-looking youth was staring into space. She moved towards the back of the building and began examining the books.

She had not been there long – though long enough to realise she didn't recognise many of the texts – when it hit her that it was almost Christmas. Having come from summer in her own time, the yuletide festivities had mostly passed her by. It occurred to her that she would likely spend Christmas with Albus and she should probably buy him a present.

What could she buy for him? What did he _like_? Well, she knew a few things the older Albus liked - his chocolate frog card mentioned chamber music and tenpin bowling, while from his office passwords it was clear he had a sweet tooth. However, this did not help much - after all, there was no guarantee he had even come into contact with Muggle sweets, music or tenpin bowling yet. That said, it did not seem very interesting to buy him a book and she didn't really have enough money; only the change from her robes that she had forgotten to return to him.

A tome entitled 'Draggons in Alchymy' caught her eye. Hadn't Dumbledore discovered the twelve uses of Dragon's blood? Perhaps she could give him a push in the right direction. Sadly it was priced at seventeen Galleons and two Sickles, a gargantuan amount compared to everything else she had seen. In her pocket she touched the moneybag she had stored there that morning. She glanced at the wizard behind the counter. He was still staring aimlessly ahead. There was no one else in the shop – maybe it wasn't a prime centre for Christmas gifts – so she decided to take a gamble.

"I'd like to buy this book, please," she said, approaching the counter. The young wizard eyed her strangely but manners won over and he said,

"That's seventeen Galleons and two Sickles." Casually she handed over eighteen Galleons, neatly facing upwards to show the side more similar to the Victorian coins. There was a long pause.

"Surely you've seen Welsh money before?" she asked exasperatedly, with more courage than she felt. "It won't bite, you know, and it's perfectly legal." The assistant looked nervous and affronted, shifting from foot to foot, but eventually he counted out the change and put the book in a paper bag.

"Good day," he said uneasily, as if it was anything but. She exited as fast as she could without seeming suspicious and headed for the alleyway they had Apparated into before.

She examined the fifteen sickles the shop assistant had given her. In the Diagon Alley she knew it would have bought her almost nothing; here it was a fairly large sum. Dropping the heavy coins back into the moneybag and stowing 'Draggons in Alchymy' in her purse, she made her way back into the main street.

According to Harry, vault 713 was very deep in Gringotts. It didn't seem like her friend would be back any time soon, especially given the amount of people around wanting to collect money for Christmas presents. To her left, a shop named 'Scrivenshaft's Exemplary Quills' caught her eye. She wondered when it would take up residence in Hogsmeade, where she had once bought a pheasant-feather quill. Aware she had been standing in the middle of the street for some time, she ducked inside.

It was dark; the windows were small and mostly blocked by the items displayed in them. Behind the counter an elderly wizard was deep in discussion with the only other customer. Glad that she was not being closely watched, she glanced around.

Neat gold lettering identified each type of feather on the shelves. There were elegant falcon quills for business, trim eagle feathers for everyday use, peacock plumes for the extravagant and even stubby owl quills for children. It seemed that charmed quills were just becoming popular, as there was a separate stand stacked with boxes of 'Quick-Write Feathers'.

It occurred to her, as she examined a slender falcon feather quill, that he probably had thousands already. After all, they were everyday items. Nevertheless, the feather she was holding was neat and graceful – just like him. One could never have too many quills. Approaching the counter, she waited behind the other customer. The shopkeeper looked up from his discussion.

"Two sickles, please, Madame." She dropped the coins into his hand and said,

"Thank-you, Sir." Once outside, she dropped the purchase into her pocket and looked around her once more. Remembering she still had thirteen Sickles left from the book's change, she smiled and headed back to Gringotts.

Luckily, her companion was still nowhere in sight. The queue for retrieving money from vaults was very long, though, so he had probably not been underground for long. She slipped behind another young woman in a queue for the Goblin that exchanged currency. Many decades from now she would again stand in this queue, looking around with amazement as her parents prepared to change their Muggle money to Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. Now she wanted to do the reverse.

She was so deep in her memory that she didn't notice when she reached the front of the line. The Goblin cleared his throat loudly and she looked up with a start.

"Sorry," she said, digging in her pocket for the coins. "Could I change ten Sickles to Muggle money, please?" Tipping the money into the golden tray, she watched as the Goblin counted them out and put them in a draw, muttering something that was possibly an exchange rate. A moment later he produced a handful of coins and pushed them towards her, saying, "Next!" in a croaky voice. She emptied the tray and scurried out of the way.

She found that her ten Sickles had bought her eight Shillings and nine Pence. Sliding this Muggle money into the other pocket, she sat down to wait. With nothing better do to, her mind wandered onto thoughts of home.

What were Harry and Ron doing? Poor Ron – she had thought herself so in love with him until she had come here. Did he think she had abandoned him deliberately? Their embrace during the battle had been nice, and she had longed for it, but it was based only on excitement and the novelty of each other. She knew what love was and she probably would have grown to love Ron very much, but they were definitely not made for each other. He had a fun side that she needed and loved but sometimes they were so different that they couldn't get on at all.

One man only had captured her mind as much as the excitement of love captured her heart. With Ron and Victor she had craved affection and to be noticed as a female, but she realised a relationship had to be built on more than that. Albus made her think of partnership – he treated her as an equal, he considered her feelings, he was kind and so… different. She had not even realised how deeply these feelings had rooted themselves within her until she analysed them.

This morning she had spent a long time getting ready, telling herself it was to be as believably Muggle as possible. That was true, but mostly she had just wanted to be noticed. How had he seen her? Could he love her?

"Ready?" A voice startled her and she looked up into a pair of sparkling, beautiful blue eyes. She became aware that she was staring and smiled to cover her embarrassment.

"Yes, sorry. I was miles away." He held out his arm and she took it, welcoming the closeness. "Where are we going?"

"Just into Muggle London. We'll go through the Leaky Cauldron." They walked on in companionable silence, Hermione wishing they could Apparate to their destination so she would have an excuse to be nearer to him. As the thought of him embracing her crossed her mind, her stomach did a strange flip. She walked closer to his side, filled with a warm feeling but at the same time, scared – she shouldn't tie herself to this world when she knew she had to return to a world where her life was ahead of her and he was already dead.

Dead. The word was like a barb, a poison - so painfully final. An image of her strong, now so dear Headmaster filled her mind, his broken body laid out on a block of white marble. She understood that dying was the natural conclusion of living, but that didn't stop the overwhelming feeling of loss washing over her. Right here they had a life in front of them – Albus and Hermione, saviours of the Wizarding World. The brightest minds of the time.

But she had to go back. She could not create a world where her original self would not be born or would not live the same life. It was not possible and she didn't want to know what would happen if she did. She tried to think of Harry and everyone she knew and wanted to see again. Her parents living somewhere in Australia, under another name. They walked on and she tried to take in every little detail of being with him while it still lasted.

---

If Diagon Alley had seemed full of activity, it was nothing compared to the bustle of the road they found themselves in after walking a few streets away from the Leaky Cauldron. Street sellers lined the pavement, a few feet away from the shop fronts. Hundreds of people were buying from stalls, going in and out of shops, walking along the pavement or getting out of carriages. He steered her firmly through the crowd towards a small bakery.

She tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible as her companion eventually reached the counter and asked for several things that she couldn't quite hear. After a slight pause he managed to find the right money and they were back outside.

Once they had repeated this process twice more at the butcher's (Hermione had never seen so many dead things in one shop) and the grocer's, Albus bought them each a pie from a street seller and they headed for somewhere quiet to Apparate back. She hadn't managed to get to the sweet shop but she could always return, she reasoned. There was still two weeks to go until Christmas. Gripping him tightly, though she could have easily Apparated herself home, they disappeared.

---

They ate hungrily – once they had finished the pies they had an apple each and wondered what was next before they remembered they really ought to save their provisions. Hermione put everything neatly away in a small cupboard and said,

"What should we do now?" he laughed.

"Why do you always ask me?" She looked like she wasn't about to answer so he added, "Perhaps we could try and find out where these researchers are."

"Really? I thought you wouldn't let us go." He looked up thoughtfully.

"Well… I know you want to go home and it might be our only chance."

"Oh." Feeling stupid, she continued. "Could you change my dress back, do you think?" He nodded slightly and flicked his wand. The fabric lightened and changed shape back into the lilac dress she had worn to the wedding. "I'll just get changed, then, if we're going out…"

Drawing the curtain between them, she slipped out of the dress and looked across the top bunk where she had laid out all her clothes. It seemed that witches these days wore almost nothing under their long robes, but there was no way she was going to do that. Sighing, she hunted around for a small top that she could wear underneath. When that was done she looked for something to cover her bottom half. Even her shortest jeans were sometimes visible below the bottom hem when she walked; she was going to have to wear a skirt.

After several minutes, in which she tried on every skirt she owned and decided they all created an annoying ridge under her robes, she gave up. Taking her hair down and brushing it out, she put her purse in an inside pocket and returned to the living area. Being a Victorian wasn't as easy as she might have thought.

---

They were walking, again, down a narrow street not far from the Leaky Cauldron. Not for the first time, Hermione wished Wizardkind had a more effective way of searching for things. If they were looking for something Muggle in her time, she could have gone to an archive, a library, a university or even somewhere like the Patent office to find out about new research. Here and now, finding people inventing the Time-Turner was about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" she asked again. Her feet were sore and the Disillusionment Charm was itching annoyingly.

"I'm only going on what we were told." They had been to see a friend of Albus' who knew some researchers. Now they were trying to find the home of one who they hoped could lead them further. "'Turn right out of the Leaky Cauldron, a left then a right, Greek Street, half way up take a left - road doesn't have a name - it's on the corner. Just ask.' Wouldn't you agree we ought to be here?"

From the directions, she had to agree. They ought to be in the right place, but there seemed to be nothing magical about any of the properties near the corner. Muggles walking by did not act like they couldn't see one of them, like they did with the Leaky Cauldron – nor were they numbered oddly like at Grimmauld Place, denoting one house was missing.

"Perhaps we should knock on the doors." He shook his head violently.

"No! We'll attract far too much attention. There's got to be a spell." A Muggle was about to walk straight into them and she pulled him out of the way just in time.

"Can you check for magical activity or something?"

"I think you can, but if I ever knew how, I've forgotten." She sighed.

"You're not supposed to forget things. Brightest wizard of the age and all that…" A young Muggle man on a penny-farthing bicycle was approaching them very fast and they dived sideways. Albus muttered something about people looking where they were going and she laughed. A moment later she spoke again. "What did he mean by 'just ask'? I disregarded it at the time."

"I've no idea. I ignored it, too." She thought for a second, looked around for Muggles, then said clearly,

"I'd like to reach the home of Mr Bones, please." She was disappointed when nothing happened, but not discouraged. She tried again. "Is Mr Bones at home, please?" A few seconds passed with no apparent change in the surroundings. Suddenly, a shabbily dressed wizard appeared across the street, beckoned to nothing in particular and retreated into an alcove between two buildings. They moved towards him, careful to avoid the Muggles passing by. A warm feeling descended on her and she realised Albus had lifted their Disillusionment Charms.

The other wizard nodded in greeting and touched a stone in the wall. Once Hermione and Albus were connected to the same stone, he muttered something that sounded oddly like 'Scotch Egg' and she felt a familiar tug behind her navel.

---

The room was largely empty and sparely furnished but neat and clean. Hermione looked around her, wondering if they were inside one of the houses or if the Portkey had taken them somewhere entirely different. The wizard, who she assumed to be Mr Bones, ushered them onto a sofa and sat down in an armchair. He turned to her.

"Didn't have to shout twice, you know. Heard perfectly well the first time but you didn't give me a chance to get there."

"Sorry, Mr Bones, but we weren't quite sure how to get to your house." He grunted.

"Happens all the time. Don't know what the parents were thinking when they bought it. Anyway – what did you come for?" He looked at Albus. "You seem familiar." Casually her companion smoothed a crease from his robe and replied,

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. Our friend Mr Ogden told me I might find some help here; he said you might be acquainted with the Charms specialists studying time travel." Bones look speculative.

"I know someone who has been looking into it. I can warn you now the subject's highly secret and they don't tolerate meddling; paranoid someone will steal their ideas, I suppose." Albus nodded and pushed an errant strand of hair away from his face.

"We would be grateful if you could tell us where to find him. It's quite urgent and I needn't say you sent me." He other man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"They wouldn't be happy." Heavy silence filled the room. After a while he continued. "Urgent, you say?" Albus nodded, auburn hair falling in his eyes again. He swept it away impatiently. "Perhaps I can help you, if you could promise not to mention me. You'd owe me."

"Of course." Albus spoke with the air of someone used to coming to agreements. "Where is your friend working?"

"Up in Yorkshire, so you'd have to Apparate. Could be tricky if you've never been before. You could Floo to the Dragon & Niffler, Thwaite."

"Thank you. Where would we find your friend after that?"

"South up a Muggle track onto the hillside. If you ask for them, you can follow the arrows – it's about a mile. Muggles can't see it." She saw Albus nod and shift slightly as if to get up. Mr Bones obviously noticed this too as he added, "I hope they don't find out who sent you. If they do, you'd better pray we don't meet again."

"A threat, Mister Bones?" She felt her heart leap at the familiar tone of gentle warning in his voice and the twinkle in his eye. The man made no move to acknowledge the question. Instead, he smiled a slightly crooked smile and stood up, ushering them to the place they had appeared in.

They placed their hands on the wall and heard the password muttered again. When she next looked they were back in the alcove, looking out onto the small street with no name.

"Right. I suppose the Leaky Cauldron is the nearest place we can use the Floo." His voice was set and she knew there was no place he now wanted to go less than the Dragon and Niffler, Thwaite. She felt a cold passing over her as he Disillusioned them. There was a small pause.

"Thank you, Albus. It really means a lot to me that you'll be there." Perhaps it was the small space, the fact that they were essentially invisible or just scattered emotions, but whatever the reason, her resolve melted slightly. She was dimly aware of her arms wrapping themselves around his neck and slowly, cautiously, one of his hands coming briefly to rest on her waist.

---


End file.
